


Bound by Iniquity

by matchstick_dolly



Series: Matches After Midnight [15]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Bitterness, Dark, Episode Related, Episode: s05e05: Detective Amenadiel, F/M, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Hate Sex, Maze isn't over Eve or Lucifer, Michael's stronger than you think, Mommy Issues, POV Maze, Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 01, Season/Series 05, Sexual Content, Violence, Virginity, Whump, so toxic there's a taste of a poison paradise, the fourteen-billion-year-old virgin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/pseuds/matchstick_dolly
Summary: After discovering Lilith has died alone in Reno, Maze is eager for a distraction, be it shots of tequila or Lucifer's asshole twin, Michael. The real question is, who's using whom?
Relationships: Mazikeen/Michael
Series: Matches After Midnight [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620778
Comments: 26
Kudos: 94





	Bound by Iniquity

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [MoanDiary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/works) and [TheWillowBends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWillowBends/works) for the pre-reading!

Maze stood over the shattered poster frame that held the memory of Lily Rose. She might as well have been gazing into a mirror. Glass crunched beneath her boots as she shifted her weight and drew a ragged breath. She stared blankly, her youth playing out in flashes and bursts. In an echo of Hell's corridors as she ran, motherless and wild, beside her sister Scylla. In the pain of stones bruising and of blades cutting deep. But the wounds had always healed, and demonic hearts had hardened with each assault, with each new sibling who came from Earth. They were mean, vicious children. Their mother saw to that.

She remembered the first demonic death—Scylla's, of course, because Scylla _wasn't_ hardened. She was pathetic and weak, and would have died a hundred times over if not for Maze. Scylla, who cuddled close in the dark and sucked her thumb, even in her two-hundredth year. If Maze was very still, she could yet feel the hot tackiness of her sister's blood on her fingertips, the eerie silence from Scylla and her killers, the brothers who stood frozen in shock at what they had done. Back then, they had believed themselves immortal. The truth, they would discover, was more complicated. They _could_ live forever, _if_ they were strong enough to survive.

At Maze's back, there had been a flutter, the clap of shoes landing on Hell's flinty ground, and that creeping warmth that marked their lord as _other_. Of course he knew Scylla was dead. Nothing transpired in Hell without Lord Morningstar's knowledge.

"Who among you has committed this sin?" demanded the king of Hell, and his voice reverberated off the stones, as if Hell itself were speaking.

They trembled before him, and he was not merciful as he drew out the truth. He'd had little mercy to give in those days. Only anger, only an eye for an eye and a life for a life.

A second demon died soon after Syclla, and it felt like justice. Maze had watched the hot winds of Hell sweep her brother's ashes down its halls. Her other siblings scattered, fearing the king's ire, but still she sat with Scylla's body.

"Mazikeen." 

Surprised he knew her name, she looked up, blinking against Hell's persistent ashfall. She stared at her lord, and he stared back, as if to gauge her worth. He was long-haired and bearded then, as wild as any of them.

"Follow me," he said, and turned on his heel.

"But, my king—" She stood, yet remained rooted in place. "Scylla..."

Lucifer had turned back and glanced at her sister and the pool of ash-coated blood. "What about her?"

"Will you take me to her door?" Maze asked, heart hammering. She jutted her chin proudly. "I'll make a deal for it, lord."

"What," he started, barking an unexpected laugh, "you think she has a loop?" 

She frowned. "Doesn't everybody get a loop when they die?"

"Some _souls_ do, Mazikeen, and demons don't have those." 

It was as though Hell had yawned open beneath her. Death was not the end. They all knew this. Their entire world was evidence of a life beyond.

"So where is she?" 

Shaking his head almost pityingly, Lucifer flicked a finger toward Scylla's lifeless body. " _That_ was all your sister had. You've the one life and nothing more. I suggest you not waste it on petty squabbles." He turned again. "Which is precisely why you should come with me."

Of course she'd followed. For millions of years, she'd fought and knelt and been his most prized whore. The demon whose bed he returned to, when he still reeked of humans and other earthly things. It had been enough. She hadn't known there could be more. But now she knew. Now she had a miserable taste of forbidden fruit. How easily he had manipulated her for Lilith, how quickly he had set her aside for Chloe.

Maze blinked away tears. Every moment of pain went back to Lilith or Lucifer, to deals made over the Lilim, as if they were property to be bartered. And why wouldn't celestials and humans see the soulless that way? 

Rearing back, she coughed and spat onto the poster of Lily Rose. Spittle pooled on her mother's face before sinking wetly into the vintage print. She watched it dispassionately, her outbursts less satisfying than she'd hoped they would be. 

She cast a final glance over her mother's hovel and its unremarkable knickknacks. The apartment smelled musty, like any other old human's home that contained dusty quilts and decades of disappointment. It was this unbearable reminder of Lilith's chosen mortality that made Maze huff and leave it all behind. Lilith was a coward, weaker than Scylla had ever been.

In the hallway, she passed the cleaning crew that had been in the apartment when she'd arrived. They stood awkwardly in an alcove, their heads bent over cell phones.

The short-haired woman looked up. "Did you find anything you wanted?" Her eyes were round with pity. "You can take whatever you need."

Of course she could. Lilith had left behind nothing of value.

"I don't want anything from that bitch," Maze said, not bothering to slow her gait.

Outside, Reno was nearly as hot and dry as Hell. Michael waited for her beneath a shade tree, where he leaned against the sign for the suburban apartment building, his hands folded before him. Her lip curled at the sight of his face. Even with the nasty scar and Quasimodo impression, he looked too much like the very last person she wanted to see right now. Or the _first_ person she wanted to see, so she could rip off his arms and beat him with them. Grunting, she marched past him.

Michael shuffle-jogged to catch up. "Sooo, how'd it go?"

The sidewalk blurred in her vision as she headed east with no destination in mind and no transportation other than the asshole at her heels. Not that she couldn't steal any one of the cars parked around here if she wanted.

"It was _great_ ," she said, in a too-sweet voice. "Lilith said sorry. We hugged it out. Talked about how we'd see each other on weekends and take up knitting."

"That good, huh?" He spoke sarcastically. 

Lucifer would have cared so little, he'd have believed her, but then Maze was learning Michael wasn't like Lucifer. He wasn't so prone to taking things at face value. People were eager to share most dreams and desires. Sooner or later, they spilled their guts to Lucifer, which had a way of convincing him most people wore their heart on their sleeve. Fears were different. Fears were what kept people from pursuing desire. People buried fear deep, lied about it, killed in its name. Michael had to dig, and he clearly enjoyed the challenge. She wondered what, if anything, he sensed in her. Lucifer had never understood her desires. A whole lot of shit would have been easier if he had.

"You can go back to L.A.," she prompted. "I'm sure you've got somebody to stalk."

"Oh, don't be like that. Seems you could use the company."

"Yeah, 'cause you're so thoughtful."

"I _am_ thoughtful, Mazikeen," he insisted. "Anyway, we share a mutual disdain for my brother, who, need I remind you, has _put_ you in this entire situation. I may be an asshole, but I'm honest with you, when no one else is."

She snorted. "Lying is your _thing_."

"Did I lie about Lilith?" 

Michael came to an abrupt stop behind her. He was toying with her, and she knew it, but she couldn't help but slow. Turning, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at his slanted form. "Doesn't matter anymore," she said, preparing to drop her own bomb. "Lilith's _dead_. People are cleaning out her things. So whatever your angle was with me and her? It's about six feet under."

There was a shocked pause, and then Michael frowned deeply. "I'm so sor—"

"Ugh, just stop." Grimacing, she made a gagging sound. "Let's not pretend she mattered to you." Lilith's death hadn't mattered to anyone. 

His frown smoothed. "You're right. I don't care."

" _Thanks_." She started walking again. Away from him.

"What?" he called. "I thought you wanted honesty."

"What I _want_ is a drink," she called back.

"You're in luck, then! I know a place." At her silence, he cajoled, "Come on, Miss Mazikeen. Even I have to be better than grand theft auto."

* * *

The bar he flew them to was overpriced and hipster, but booze was booze, even when served by a bearded idiot with a man bun. Several shot glasses stood before Maze, while Michael nursed straight gin on her right. Holding a glass between thumb and forefinger, she stared numbly at the subway tiles lining the wall behind the bar's liquor shelves. Indie music she'd never heard before quietly jangled over a subpar sound system. All in all, the place reminded her of Hell.

"Wanna talk about it?" Michael asked.

Maze blinked. _It_. Her dead, deadbeat mom.

"Thought you didn't care."

"I don't, but we're here, and I didn't bring a book to entertain me."

"What do you think there is to say?" She drank down a shot and let the glass hit the counter. "She was a bitch, Lucifer's a dick. Same old, same old."

"It _is_ a pity he waited so long to tell you about her." He shook his head. "That's the problem with mortality. Clock's _always_ ticking."

His words conjured up images of Eve. Maze wondered for the millionth time if she was safe, if she _ever_ thought of the demon she'd left behind. Frustrated by her own pining, Maze huffed. Michael was after something, and he was sly, she'd give him that. She _wanted_ to talk—or, no, that was wrong. She was _afraid_ of having no one who'd want to listen. Even Linda had to be getting tired of it. And so Maze talked, despite knowing she was being used in some way. After all, everyone used her until they were done with her.

"Lucifer didn't tell me about Lilith."

"He didn't?" Michael spun on his wooden bar stool to face her. She scowled at him sidelong. "Then how..."

"Let's just say I knew he wouldn't if I asked. He would have given my mom his word, and his word—"

"Is his bond," Michael finished snidely. "That _thing_." He shook his head, bewildered. "Like people don't draw up contracts now."

"Yeah. And Lucifer may not lie, but—"

"Lies can be hidden in many little truths. He's good at it." He smirked. "A _Great Deceiver_ , some might say."

Runs in the family, she thought. "Anyway, I got someone to find out the truth for me."

Guilt twinged at her insides. She'd _never_ used Trixie before—maybe to get Granny Panties Decker to lighten up and order pizza, or let the kid stay up and watch a horror movie, but not like this. Not with a lie to Trixie herself. Maze had come up with an elaborate story about why she needed to know more about Lucifer's ring. To help her buy a gift, she'd claimed. Maybe Trixie had seen through the ruse, at least a little. She _had_ asked for triple her usual mischief pay. Kid's piggy bank was getting heavy, and it was mostly filled with bills.

"Now I just wish I'd never known," Maze continued. "First time you brought me out here, it _sucked_ , but I thought..." She gritted her teeth as her eyes began to sting. "I just needed more time."

"I know how it feels, Lucifer stealing decades from you— _eons_ , even. All while he doesn't care, doesn't even _see_ what he's done. It's amazing you're still at his beck and call, considering how little he's given you in return. That sort of dedication is usually reserved for...well, _God_." 

"I'm not his servant," she snapped. "He released me years ago."

"Real charitable of him. I'm sure you didn't even need to ask for your freedom." The barb hit, and Michael turned back to the counter to sip his gin. "Of course, you're still up to your eyeballs in his life in Los Angeles. Between his therapist and Amenadiel, not to mention Chloe Decker and your little bounty hunting job with the LAPD..." He snapped his finger. "And weren't you interested in Eve, too?"

Maze's demon dagger was at his thigh in seconds, lethal point poised just above his femoral artery. "Don't fuck with Eve, Michael."

He held his hands up, but he was annoyingly unconcerned and wore the same smug expression Lucifer got when he knew he'd touched the nerve of an unrepentant sinner. "I promise you I'm not fucking with Eve." His eyes glinted with amusement. "Are _you_ fucking with her? That's gotta be, what, one step away from incest?"

Snarling, she withdrew and returned to her shots of tequila. They fell into silence while the bar slowly filled with patrons seeking relief after a day of work. The liquor warmed her, as well, dulling the edge of her undue grief, while polishing her loneliness until it shined.

Eve wasn't coming back, Lilith was dead, and Michael was right. All of her so-called friends were Lucifer's, people he would give and keep his word to, while he broke his pacts with her. She was still caught in his web. It was past time she accepted she was on her own and always would be. 

Exhausted by her own thoughts, she slammed her last shot glass onto the counter and turned to the angel beside her. "Wanna get laid?"

Michael choked on his gin. Coughing loudly, he wiped his mouth on the heel of his hand and looked at her in disbelief. "What, with _you_?"

She rolled her eyes and dragged a fingertip around the edge of a shot glass, collecting salt. "Look, Eve's not around, and you're sure as hell not getting in Decker's miraculous panties, are you? Not if _I_ couldn't." She sucked her finger into her mouth. Popping it free a moment later, she taunted, "You know she dreams about him? Like, I'm talking _moans_ in the night. Real good to rub one out to."

"Who's the creep between the two of us again?"

"Takes one to know one, I guess." She shrugged. "So, what do you say? This is a one-time offer." 

"You're a demon."

"And?"

Michael stared at her, his lips pursed, but she knew she had him. He'd fallen a little somewhere along the way. Not the night she'd kissed him and straddled his lap, when she'd made fun of him for remaining soft beneath her, no matter how much she'd ground her hips. But soon after, she thought, from something Chloe had done to him. She couldn't blame him, really. Decker could sneak up on you like that.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed hold of his wrist and ignored its tremor as she hopped down from her stool. "Come on. I'm doing you a favor."

He was silent as he allowed her to drag him down a poorly lit hall and into one of the two unisex bathrooms at its end. She slammed the door closed behind them and looked around. It was an extremely utilitarian room, the fixtures porcelain white beneath the suspiciously dim lighting, the walls covered in the same subway tile as the bar. Somehow, the smooth, black floor was both sticky and wet, and everything smelled faintly of lemon cleaner masking the scent of human sweat and piss. Turning, she shoved Michael against the door, enjoying the gin-soaked exhale that rushed from his lungs on impact.

"I'm not sure—" 

Maze cut off his words as she yanked him into a bruising kiss and bunched her fingers into his black sweater. He resisted, briefly, reminding her of Amenadiel's self-righteousness that she'd broken down, bit by bit. But Michael gave in more easily, his right hand lifting to clutch her to him. He breathed unevenly into her mouth, tongue sweeping. She savored his artless ardor, and laughed at his focus, his willingness to follow her lead. She gripped him as though he were a thing, moving him where she wanted him as she pressed against the heavy erection positioned at her stomach. His hips jerked, and a shiver rushed through him.

Pulling back, they looked at each other, resentful hisses slipping past their teeth and over the music that had followed them. She hated his scarred, pretty boy face, hated the ruined backslash of his shoulders. Hated the truth that had come from his lies and manipulations. And she knew, staring into his dark gaze that was so familiar and different, that he hated her, too. For being an abomination, for not being the girl he'd thought to steal. 

She wrenched his belt free from its buckle.

"We're doing this _here_?" Gulping and holding to her shoulders, he glanced around the dank bathroom. "It's filthy."

Maze stuffed her hand into his grey pants, past plain white briefs, and his eyes rolled up in his head. Chuckling, she kicked his feet apart and squeezed him. A strange sense of déjà vu washed through her as she straddled one of his thighs and rolled her hips. Stroking him with one hand, she slipped the other beneath his sweater to glide fingers up his stomach. "Do you really care where we are?"

"Uh..." Michael sucked in a breath as he looked down between them. "Maybe a little?"

"I'm just getting you warmed up." As if she wanted another thirty seconds in "Heaven" with an inexperienced angel. 

He stared at her, lips parted, the deep scar on his face shadowed beneath the dim light. He trembled beneath her touch, nails scraping against the door at his back, and it was good, finding control out of the day's chaos. She was Mazikeen of the Lilim, the most fearsome of Hell's torturers, the demon the king sent to break the most stubborn of souls.

She tilted her head and licked along his jaw before setting her teeth on the edge of his ear. "We can go somewhere else after you've come." 

Michael made a strangled sound.

She swept her thumb over the head of his cock, sliding through wet, jerking harder. It was a near-mechanical motion as she ground against him and listened to his moans. Having sex with angels, it was like breaking a horse or bringing a mean dog to heel. They were haughty and self-righteous, liked to pretend they were above it all, but there was a nasty little part of them that craved the dark God had put into all humans and Lilith had especially handed down to her children.

Grabbing one of his hands, she pressed it against her bare sternum and guided his fingers beneath the lace of her crop top. He cupped her breast and pinched her nipple. 

"Like this?" he asked, and she didn't need a gift to know there was fear in him.

" _Harder_." She squeezed him as mercilessly as he squeezed her, until pain and pleasure were interwoven. "Like that," she gasped, driving her hips roughly, feeling the wet seam of her leather pants drag against her clit.

This, she could do. Base, soulless pleasure. They kissed with teeth.

He lasted longer than she expected—longer than his excited twin, all those millennia ago, longer than God's warrior in the back of a car. There was a determined set to Michael's jaw, a grinding of molars. Anticipating his own release, he fumbled, dragging his sweater up, to reveal rippling muscle. She stroked him, twisting her fist, and black wings exploded into reality, canting against the walls, one arched more than the other. 

Grinning hard, Maze reached up her free hand and grabbed his uninjured wing, using it as leverage to aid her thrusts. With a hiss, Michael froze. 

"I'm—"

" _Yes_ ," she purred. 

He came, staring at her hand, dark as it moved on his light, uncut flesh. Hot, milky fluid burst across his stomach and dripped down her fingers.

Looking up at him, her breath staggering from her chest, she brought her sullied hand to her mouth and licked, tasting the bitterness she felt.

Michael let out a low groan, sending shivers down her spine. Hiding his wings with a pained grimace, he took hold of the waist of her pants and pulled roughly, tearing threads as though they were paper. He shoved a hand inside the shredded fabric and cupped her wet sex, his fingers exploring. There was no skill to it, but the eagerness made her grin into his mouth as he fell upon her. 

In Maze's experience, all God's sons were bold and adored the dark. 

* * *

They looked like hell by the time they made it to a nearby resort casino. The humans at the front desk gave their disheveled clothing furtive glances as they checked in, but wouldn't dare turn away the black credit card Maze pulled from her back pocket. It wasn't a card she used often, only when she was pissed. Not to say the pleasure she took in using Lucifer's money to fuck his twin wasn't diminished by the knowledge he would never bother to look at the card statement. He would probably never even know she'd come to Reno or seen Lilith. Did he even know her mother was dead? Would he _care_?

The resort's penthouse suite was spacious and well-appointed, but its beige, corporate cleanliness lacked charm, not unlike the squat city beyond its walls. Reno yearned to be Vegas so much so that it wasn't its own city. 

Snatching up a bottle of red from a waiting gift basket, Maze wandered toward the bedroom, where a large picture window looked out across parched hills and valleys that rolled beneath the blue-bowl sky. She drank deeply, painful questions swirling in her head. What had Lilith been doing here?

"Worried you'll end up like her?" Michael asked, and she felt the heat of his body at her back. 

She huffed. "Worried you'll always be in Lucifer's shadow?" 

"For your information, I'm _better_ than Lucifer," he said crisply.

Maze smiled faintly. No one was better than his brother, at least not at the things they were here to do. It had been a couple of years since Lucifer had fucked her or she had fucked him, but he still slithered into her fantasies alongside Eve. They were the God-touched souls she'd ached for, who had never really wanted her back. 

Turning, she forced herself to look at the scarred half of the Gemini. "We'll see how good you are," she quipped, and shoved him across the room.

Stumbling, he fell back onto the bed with its clean, white comforter. A small laugh bubbled out of him as he bounced, the sound too innocent for the lies that had crossed his tongue since she'd met him. Maze sauntered close, kicking off her boots and stripping free of her scant, torn clothing. Michael sat up on one elbow, his smirk as lopsided as the rest of him.

They didn't pretend to be anything but what they were. Together, they tore off his clothes, revealing his renewed erection, which she took in hand. There was a reason Maze generally preferred human women to human men. The men could never keep up with her. But angels...angels, were different. Straddling Michael's lap, she settled his cock between her legs and slid along the length of him, back and forth, drawing his curses into herself. Déjà vu crept over her once more, but the wrongness of the moment vanished as he cupped her ass and moved with her until she was slick with desire.

Falling to his chest, she tugged at his hair and kissed him roughly, her teeth bearing down on his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. But still he explored her carefully, asking questions, trying things and watching for her reactions. His attention to detail made her uncomfortable as his face conjured old, confusing memories. 

"I could go down on you," Michael offered, his tone hopeful.

_"How did that feel?" Lucifer asked, breath hot against her thigh. Around them, the Hell loop reset from night to day._

"No." Maze knocked Michael's hands aside. Raising on her knees, she lined up with his hardness. "I just wanna fuck," she said, and sank down without delay.

Michael seized forward, nearly knocking his forehead into her chin. She laughed at his shocked expression that soon morphed into one of open-mouthed rapture. She rode him hard and fast, the candy apple red of her nails digging crescents into his chest. Eve's polish—another object she'd left behind in L.A. 

Sex cleared Maze's head, until there was only her body and the body of the angel beneath her. When she came, arching back on his thighs, writhing against his flesh, fingers rubbing frantic circles into her clit, the world made sense, if only for a few all-encompassing moments. Michael let out a relieved moan at her release and clutched the comforter. Again, he froze, his jaw locked open, his brows furrowed. He made no sound as he peaked and peaked, and then finally sank into the mattress. The sigh he let out almost made her laugh. He'd kept his wings in, though, she'd give him that. 

She pulled away and fell onto the bed beside him, choosing to ignore the mess between her legs. Their loud breathing and the hum of the suite's central air were the only sounds in the room. Maze stared at the recessed, brown ceiling above them, clarity swiftly vanishing, when thinking was the very last thing she wanted to do. 

"So," she began, breaking the silence, "how's it feel to join the rest of us in the gutter?"

His swallow was loud. "Intense."

"Yeah. I should break more of you angels in," she said, nodding. "It's basically a public service."

They fell silent again, and as the moments stretched, Maze wondered if she could go home, if even Linda's house _was_ her home, or ever had been. Limbo wasn't real—that was just some shit humans had made up—but it _felt_ real as she lay beside Michael. 

"You know he'll keep doing this to you, right?" 

"If I knew you were going to be as talkative as Lucifer, I'd have just masturbated." She sighed. "Fine, I'll bite. Doing what?" 

"Whatever he wants." Rising into a seated position, Michael leaned on his good arm and looked down at her. He trailed the fingers of his unsteady hand from her collarbone, to the jut of her hip. "Whatever benefits him and leaves you in the dust. It drives you crazy, right? How no one else sees it?" He studied her and nodded, as if something in her expression confirmed his suspicion. "You know what I'm talking about. One little apology, one moment of goodness, and— _poof_!—all is forgiven; the world bows down at his feet." 

"Hell wasn't a gift to him," she countered. "He never wanted to be there." No matter how much the Lilim had done for him. No matter how much she'd pledged of herself. 

"Maybe he didn't view it that way, but Dad gave him a _kingdom_ for rebelling, for crying out loud. And He let him have his little breaks from all of you, didn't He? Even in exile, Lucifer has enjoyed privileges the rest of the host hasn't. You know Azrael, Angel of Death? You think _she_ takes a vacation?"

"Uh-huh. So what is it you're doing right now?"

"Balancing the scales."

She snorted. "Is that what you call fucking?" 

"I'm tired of the double standards," he replied seriously. "I'm tired of waiting to receive what I'm _owed_. And I think you are, too, Mazikeen." 

"Look, if we're not gonna bone—" 

Moving at angelic speed, he forced her legs open with his knees and grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. 

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his grip bordering on painful.

Maze chuckled and licked her canines. "You catch on quick."

"What I want"—the head of his cock glided through their previous coupling, and she arched her back—"is for you to join me." With a single, swift stroke, Michael pushed inside. He hissed and gritted his teeth, still unused to the sensation.

Maze let out a breath with him, feeling the weight and pleasure of his strength. "I'm not interested in your games," she said, fitting her heels to the edge of the mattress and rocking her hips with his thrusts.

She was done being a pawn.

"Since when is getting justice a game?" Transitioning her wrists to one hand, his other hand drifted between them.

Staring up at him for a long moment, she finally said in a monotone, "That's not my clit."

"What?" Michael's brow furrowed as he looked down. 

That was all the distraction she needed to weasel from his hold and use her knees to throw him sideways. He slid from her body and, with an extra push, toppled, grasping for the comforter as he fell off the bed and landed on the floor with a heavy thud. Maze leaned over the edge of the mattress and cackled at the incongruous sight of his deep scowl and wet dick. 

With a savage smirk, she followed him down and sat on his thighs. "I win," she taunted, and wrapped her fingers around his cock.

Shivering, he rose to meet her, and her stomach clenched as she expected him to playfully wrest back control, as his brother might. Instead, he moved languidly, running his hands up to her neck, where he wrapped his fingers around her throat before gently cradling her jaw. The mood changed at once, and she felt her pulse slow as she looked into his unfamiliar-familiar gaze.

_"You know I've always got your back," the king promised, hips rolling while he was buried deep. His dark eyes glimmered with amusement. "If you've got mine, that is."_

Lucifer had a funny way of showing allegiance. 

"You could be free of him," Michael said, lips brushing hers and bringing her back into the present. " _Truly_ free. To be your own person." His thumbs swept her cheeks, a whisper of skin on skin. "Now, wouldn't that be nice?"

Maze's eyes stung as her shoulders slumped. She was more exhausted by life than ever before, and she wished... She wished for so many things. That she hadn't come to Reno to see Lilith today, _or_ the first time. That she'd never conned Trixie or fallen for Eve or Linda or even fucking Decker. She wished Lucifer had never pulled her out of Hell and never started Lux. That she'd never fought for him or gone to his bed or left Scylla's body to rot in a bed of ash. 

"How?" she asked, grip relaxing on his hardness. 

"By putting yourself first." Michael brushed back her hair. "You don't need anyone else to do it for you, Mazikeen. Why do you think I'm so honest with you? People like us, we're loners until we find each other. We have to choose ourselves. After all, no one knowingly chooses damaged goods, do they?" He pressed a kiss to her brow as tears rolled down her cheeks. "So when Chloe's somewhere near, you're going to take one of those pretty little blades of yours and slip behind Lucifer, and you're going to cut his throat."

"What?"

She shook her head between his hands, but she considered his words, nonetheless—imagined Lucifer's blood, hot and sticky on her fingers. It wasn't the first time she'd entertained the thought, nor would it be her first attempt on his life, should she go through with it. She had fought viciously with Lucifer over the years, but he had always been stronger. 

Dromos, whatever had become of him, had been right, though. Lucifer was weak on Earth, and not just when it came to his immortality. He trusted foolishly. He was in love.

But something in the pit of her stomach squirmed. "Look, I don't know—"

"It has to be you, Mazikeen. You're the only one who can get close enough to them. Just think. You'll be free of him after it's over. You can go anywhere, do anything, _be_ anything. If you want to return to Hell, I'll take you there. But Lucifer? His time's up."

She had to get out of here. Maze jerked away from his hands and dragged her palms over her wet cheeks. He was still aroused, and the sight of his erection standing between her naked thighs made her suddenly uncomfortable.

"My life may suck," she said, "but you can find someone else to do your dirty work. I'm out, and we're done here." 

She made to stand, but Michael's hands landed on her waist and held her firmly. Her eyes narrowed. "See, that doesn't work for me," Michael said, and gave a tight, falsely-apologetic smile. "Because _I_ can't kill Lucifer. Uriel's death already caused a whole _thing_ about fratricide upstairs."

"Sounds like your problem."

"Mm, _kinda_ , but I'd call it yours, too."

Maze snorted. "How do you figure?" 

"Well, I can't have you running off and telling Lucifer or Chloe of my plan, now, can I?" His bottom lip jutted with his pout. "That'd be a huge waste."

"Your beef with Lucifer is none of my business." As if she needed _more_ drama in her life right now. One dead mother was enough to "process" for a while.

Michael tucked hair behind her ear. "I have to take you to Hell now," he sighed. 

Maze reeled back. "I don't wanna go to Hell."

The words shocked her as soon as they were out of her mouth. She _didn't_ want to go to Hell. At all. It had been an abstract concept so many times before, an option that had always felt out of reach for reasons beyond her control. Sometimes, even recently, she'd thought she wanted to go back. But she didn't.

"This isn't an opt-out kind of situation."

"Like hell it isn't."

Planting her feet, Maze shoved at Michael's shoulders and jumped away from him, dancing back. She lunged for her leather pants, where her karambits were tucked away safely, but as she bent to retrieve them, Michael surged forward, grabbed hold of her ankle, and yanked. 

Snarling, she twisted her body in the air, using the leverage of his hold to kick with her other foot. Her heel caught his jaw, and his head snapped sideways over his slumped shoulder. She fell back on her hands and bounced to her feet as he straightened and unfurled his black wings. A lamp crashed to the floor, and a desk chair toppled sideways.

There was a reason some humans of old had fought naked. Nothing was more terrifying than an opponent who believed himself invincible. And Michael truly was impossible to kill, while she was not. Just how expendable was she now that she had refused to play her part?

Maze spun and made another attempt to grab her clothes. Michael moved at angelic speed, catching her hair in a fist. She cursed as he pulled her backward so roughly that she nearly lost her footing. A phone in the adjacent den began to ring. 

"You know," Michael commented as she twisted in his hold, "I really thought sleeping with you and being _nice_ would work, what with you being so clearly starved for affection, but you're really much more complicated than I expected." 

"You're a fucking asshole," she grunted, and stomped on his foot hard before elbowing his gut. 

Stumbling, Michael flapped his wings in the tight space, righting his stance and sending pictures swinging and flying off the walls. Yelling a battle cry, Maze rushed forward and made to leap at his head, thinking only to stun him long enough to get her blades. He met her jump with the flat of his palm to her chest, hitting her so hard that her heart stuttered in shock. He caught her reflexive punch before it landed and squeezed, bending her hand back with an iron grip. She screamed as the bones of her wrist cracked and broke.

Drawing her limp hand to her naked chest, she edged back. Adrenaline brought the room and her opponent into sharp focus. On her right, a long black wing curved toward her, as if to fence her in.

Maze forced her breathing to slow. The key to survival was not to fall, and to get up when you inevitably did, but in all her years she had to admit to herself that she had never won a fight against an angel—not Lucifer, nor Amenadiel, nor Uriel. She'd gotten in punches, drawn blood, especially when Lucifer felt like fighting, but she'd not won. That left only cleverness. 

She stepped back and held up her uninjured hand as Michael advanced with his shuffling gait. When he was close, she feinted, as if making another grab for her clothes. When Michael's wing rushed in to contain her, she jumped and grabbed for the damaged joint. She dug her fingers into his feathers and twisted at the bone.

Michael roared in agony, but his reflexes were good. He flapped his wing so forcefully that it picked her up and flung her sideways across the room. Maze smashed into a wall. Drywall dust plumed around her as she blinked and tried to stay on her feet. She glanced at her discarded clothes, which were now _farther_ away from her in the large penthouse bedroom.

"I'm not really in the market for a rebellious demon," Michael said, stalking toward her. He threw a punch when he was near, which she dodged while sweeping her foot. He jumped, lifting his legs and beating his wings down, holding himself aloft one second longer than was natural. As gravity pulled him back, his left hand swung and collided with her temple. 

Maze blacked out on the way down. Consciousness winked back immediately. Stars twinkled over her vision as she looked up at the brown ceiling, which wobbled and spun. Michael stood over her, nude and nearly as beautiful as his twin. One foot reared back, preparing to kick.

"No hard feelings," he said again. "For what it's worth, I had fun."

The world went dark.

* * *

Maze blinked awake, snorting dirt. She lay among tall, green grasses beneath an afternoon sun. She could tell she was on a short mountain, merely by the way the breeze blew. Part of her wanted to lay there forever. What was the point of getting up again? Michael was right about some things. No one would care if she stayed down. 

But stubbornness was another part of survival, and eventually she sat up slowly, favoring her broken wrist. It had healed a little, but it would be weeks before it was normal. She looked around. A few feet away, Michael had left her clothes and shoes in a pile. From her more elevated position, she could see down the mountain, to where a small town had grown in a valley. She was clearly a long way from Reno or Los Angeles. Maybe even America. Those looked like huts. 

Fuck. 

Better than nothing, though.

Standing, she limped to her clothes and used her good hand to drag them on in fits and starts. Her blades were gone, as was her cell phone and the executive credit card. Asshole. The next time she saw Michael, she'd have blades, and she'd castrate him.

She stumbled down the hilly mountainside until she spotted a woman and a boy sitting on a rock slab. They were brown-skinned and wore cream-colored fabrics draped about their shoulders and waists. Definitely not America, unless this was some rural cult she didn't know about. Not one to trust strangers, Maze hung back, crouching behind a rocky outcrop to watch them. 

"Lilith?" a male voice called.

 _Lilith_? Maze mouthed as the woman looked rightward at... _Lucifer_?

He came from around a bend in the mountainside, dressed as Maze had never seen him before, in torn, black celestial garb that was smudged with ash. His sandals and long legs parted the green grasses as he joined—Maze glanced in shock—yes, that _must_ be Lilith, who stood with the boy. Maze wished they would turn more so she could see their faces.

"Hello, darling," Lilith cooed. "How's Hell?"

"Quiet," said the Devil, "if you ignore all the screaming in the little rooms that keep popping up." He chuckled as he said it, but it was a nervous laugh.

"Well, your Father always has been a sadist."

Lucifer hummed in agreement.

As they continued making small talk, Maze spun around on her knees in her hiding spot, looking up and down, left and right. She touched the earth with her good hand and _felt_. There was a tenor to Hell, a falseness that all demons knew and could manipulate, at least a little, but it had been _years_... Still, she gasped as the sensation of Hell's thin veil swept over her at once.

This was Hell. She was in Hell. _Michael_ had brought her to Hell.

She peered around her rocky hiding spot at Lilith, Lucifer, and the boy. Realization struck her hard. This wasn't just any part of Hell. This was Lilith's Hell loop. Of course her mother had gone to Hell. Of course Michael would want her to see that.

Now that she knew this Lilith must be her mother, she could see it in her profile, in the regal slope of her neck, in the way she carried herself. She wished they would turn, so she could better see her mother's face. Or she could move, she supposed, but Hell loops were finicky and could easily be disrupted by an outside force. She sniffed. She didn't think any Lilim were in this one—did they even know Lilith was here? Hell had generated everything from Lilith's memories, including Lucifer.

"Who's your friend?" Lucifer asked.

"Say hello to Kushim."

" _Kushim_ ," Maze breathed in disbelief, and lifted her hand, as if to stroke the cheek of her older brother at a distance. She hadn't thought of him in years, on Earth or in Hell. He'd died so long ago.

"Hello, Lord Morningstar," Kushim said, and gave a slight bow of his shoulders.

Lucifer frowned. "Yes, hello, young man. I— You never struck me as one to take a slave, Lilith." He grimaced. "You know how I feel about that whole practice."

Lilith laughed. She was beautiful as her head fell back, and her puffy, kinky hair brushed her shoulders. "As if I would ever dream of it. No, Lucifer, Kushim isn't a slave, mine or anybody else's. He's my _son_."

Silence stretched between them.

"Your son," Lucifer finally repeated. He looked around the mountainside, as if expecting a group of humans to pop up and reveal it was all some practical joke. "Lilith, you were forbidden—"

"Oh, darling," she chuckled, holding out her hand to gaze upon a familiar, if presently opal, ring, "when have you or I ever given a damn about your Daddy's rules?"

"Fair enough, but what do you plan to do with him?" He glanced at Kushim. "I mean, no offense, young man, but you're an affront to God."

"I know, sir," Kushim said proudly.

Lucifer huffed a laugh. "Look, all I'm saying is it's a rather exclusive club you may not wish to be part of, despite what your mother might have told you."

"Oh, don't be such a downer, Lucifer. Kushim's a gift! The first of many, with any luck. I've others at home, and I'm pregnant now, actually." She put a hand to her stomach.

" _Well_." Lucifer looked down at her belly like it was a bomb. "You _have_ been busy, haven't you? Back a bit sore, by any chance?"

"Lucifer, Kushim is a gift _for you_."

"I beg your pardon?"

Lilith's hand came up to stroke the back of Kushim's neck. He was tall, a head taller than she, though shorter than Lucifer. "You're going to take him to Hell with you, where he and all other Lilim will serve you as you see fit." She smiled up at Kushim. "Won't you, my darling?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Maze closed her eyes, holding back tears. The oldest of the Lilim had been raised by Lilith herself, but by the time Maze had come along, there'd been...a system. As soon as they were weaned, off to Hell they went, to be raised by older siblings. They'd had stories about Lilith that they'd whispered to each other before sleep, tales they'd cobbled together from what their older siblings had told them and what few memories they possessed. Sometimes Lilith was the hero, and sometimes the villain, but she always had her place in a story.

She opened her eyes again when she heard Lilith's laughter. Lucifer grabbed her by an arm and drew her away from Kushim, stopping on the other side of the outcrop Maze hid behind.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lucifer snarled. 

"I'm giving you an army."

"An _army_ ," he huffed. "For what war?"

"The one that's coming, Samael."

"My name is Lucifer," he reminded her tartly. "And there is no war. There will never _be_ a war. The rebellion's over."

"Oh, you'll fight again," Lilith chuckled, "and so will I. Hell, humans might even fight with us next time. They carve their idols and burn their sacrifices, but they know the score as well as you or I. God does not care whether their bellies are full or their children grow."

"They wouldn't be in this predicament if I hadn't—"

"Eve _wanted_ to fall, darling. She was probably made to. Don't blame yourself for the way Eden withered."

Lucifer sighed. "None of this changes that I'm in no need of an army or that you are quite possibly the most unfit mother the world has ever seen. No offense."

"None taken. I let nurses raise them, believe me."

"Small mercies."

Maze turned and leaned against the rock. She closed her eyes and let her tears fall silently.

"Take Kushim, Lucifer."

"Hell's no place for a boy."

"He's a man."

"Only just, then, but Hell's no place for men, either. Let him live his life and die, and see where it takes him."

"My children will live as long as they can survive. He doesn't have a soul to be taken anywhere."

There was a pause, before Lucifer breathed, "Lilith, what have you done?" 

"What I must for myself, like always. And you will accept this gift, whether you say you want it or not."

"Will I now? And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because you're lonely, darling."

Grasses shifted as her mother walked away. Cheeks damp, Maze peered around the rock as Lucifer wearily rejoined Lilith and Kushim. He unfurled his wings, and Kushim trembled and bowed once more before Lucifer rolled his eyes and lifted him as if he weighed nothing at all. 

Lilith touched Kushim's cheek, giving it a decidedly unmotherly pat. He stared back, his dry eyes saying it all. He would not miss Lilith. Whoever had been his mother, he'd said goodbye to already.

"I'll call you when the next one's old enough," Lilith said, as if she were discussing livestock.

Lucifer didn't reply as he spread his wings and winked out of Earth's reality—or at least Hell's reimagining of it.

Maze watched Lilith curiously as she sat again on the stone slab. She remained there for a long time, staring down at the village, long enough that Maze began to wonder if there was something wrong with her strange mother's Hell loop. But as the sun sank below the horizon, Lilith crumpled and began to weep.

With no conscious intention, Maze rose and stomped around the outcrop, her torn clothes flapping in the wind as she moved. The mountainside and valley disappeared from her vision, until only she and Lilith's soul remained. Anger burned through her, numbing the pain in her wrist, numbing everything. Lilith looked up in confusion as Maze neared. 

"W-who are you?" Lilith breathed, face paling as if she were seeing a ghost.

"Your _daughter_ ," Maze spat.

"No." She shook her head. "I don't have any daughters yet."

"Trust me, you had many when you were still alive. But there was only one like me." Only one chosen by a king to torture the most worthless of souls.

"When I was still..." Lilith looked out across the valley, uncertain.

"So tell me," Maze said, lifting her uninjured hand and cupping her mother's tear-stained cheek, "what makes you think you have the right to cry?"

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'll write something nicer and funnier next time, lol.
> 
> * * *
> 
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